Fix Me Or Just Conflict Me
by thedreamtiger
Summary: Pairing: Ryden  POV: Third, Brendon's  Summary: Brendon moves to a new town with the hopes of being happy and making friends. But will the alluring Ryan Ross be friend or foe? What will happen when he is pushed to far?


Brendon had never been more uncomfortable in his entire life. Eyes burned into him hotter than the Vegas sun. Both the unwanted attention and sweltering heat was unfamiliar to him. He shuffled his feet as he sat on the concrete bench outside his new "home". He turned to look at it.

That one. No, that one.

They all looked scarily alike, orange and dusty and dull. The street was dusty too. Everything was, they were in the middle of the fucking desert! It was midday. New neighbours peered eagerly from their windows to get a good look at the four strangers that had hoped out of the van ten minutes previous. Brendon looked over his shoulder at his family. His brother, Mason, was busily pacing up and down the path, back and forth, with his strong muscular arms full of boxes. His sister was probably out, having already settled in and made new friends, despite not even unpacking yet. She was like that. Loveable. Popular.

Craning his neck over to the moving van, Brendon eyed a tall man with dark hair deep in conversation with his Mom. The man had deep set eyes and a stiff jaw and dark features jutted out of his skin uncomfortably as he spoke. Brendon decided he didn't like this man.

He missed his Dad, already. It had been 17 days since his Mom had filed for divorce, and now look where they were. In separate states, never mind separate houses.

The heat dug deeper into his shoulders. This was horrible. Just then his body cooled rapidly as he realised somebody was shadowing him, blocking the sunlight. Brendon turned to see his Mom looking at him intently waiting for him to say something. Anything.

"Nice house," he stated.

It wasn't a lie, but Grace felt his voice falter a little.

"Brendon, I-"

"No, it is nice!" he insisted, trying to keep his focus on just one thing.

"Honey," she blurted desperately, "I know you wanted to stay in Utah, but that just wasn't possible, okay? Your fath-"

"I need the toilet." Brendon interrupted, making excuses as he stood up, wandering over to the doorway of the house.

"Oh, er, there's some trouble with the plumbing. No bathroom for a little bit." His mother called after him, "Mr. Wilson said we could use his downstairs bathroom until the plumbers get here." She nodded in the direction of the creepy man she had been talking to a moment ago. Brendon muttered in agreement and shuffled towards the man.

Mr. Wilson, or Mr. "Oh, no! Please, call me Frank!" Wilson walked him across the street, directed him to a similar looking house three doors away, calling after him, "Second door on your left!"

The Wilson household was average, Brendon noted as he hoped over the threshold. At least, the hallway and bathroom were. With their continuous beige theme and pictures of kittens and lilies lining the walls. Standard middle class house for a standard middle class family, he presumed. Taking mental images in his mind, Brendon would compare this house to the one which his own family was moving into. The one which he hadn't actually set foot in yet. Oh, well, plenty of time yet.

Just as he shut the bathroom door behind him and turned to exit the house, Brendon heard laughter. A boyish, high pitched sound. It made his stomach flutter. It was adorable. Deciding he had nothing better to do, he slowly retreated into the house and crept towards the direction of the laugh, which was now being followed up by chorus of other laughs.

"You totally whipped his ass!" a deep gruff voice exclaimed.

The noises were muffled by the wood of the door he was approaching, but Brendon could tell they were all male. He cupped his ear to the white panel door. This was totally out of character for him, walking into someone's home and eavesdropping, but he had to hear that laugh again. It was so...refreshing, almost? The boy behind the laugh spoke again. He was sure it was the same voice, and he was sure it was a boy.

"Spence, don't be such a jackass!" the voice mocked, cheerily.

It was music to Brendon's ears.

He was so captivated by the boy's words he almost didn't hear the footsteps coming at him from the other side of the door. He pulled his head off of the wood, but it was too late when a figure walked flat into him, pulling them both to the ground. Brendon raised his head and looked into the face of, what he thought at first, was Mr. Wilson. Then he observed the red puffy cheeks, shorter hair and smoother skin, and suspected this must be his son.

The boy frowned down at him, finding his feet standing over him. The boy looked terrifying. All dark and angular with broad shoulders. Then, without warning, the boy extended a hand out towards Brendon. Puzzled at first, Brendon squinted at the hand before realising what he was supposed to be doing. The younger Wilson pulled Brendon too his feet with a soft hand.

Now they were back on their feet, Brendon could see they were probably about the same height, and possibly similar ages. Not so scary after all.

The boy chucked friendlily, "And who might you be, then?"

this boy was the owner of the deep voice that he had heard earlier.

_Stay calm_, Brendon thought to himself.

"Hey, I-I'm Brendon! Urie! I just moved in across the street! Sorry for standing at the door like a creep, I hope that wasn't rude. It's just our plumbing's bust up and I had too pee and I heard voices and I heard someone laugh and well that's not really importa-"

"Woah, okay dude!" The boy smiled as he looked Brendon up and down.

Brendon sighed. Had he fucked up already? The boy kept smiling. That was reassuring.

Both mutually deciding they liked each other, the boy said "I'm Brent, by the way. Brent Wilson."

Brent smiled eagerly making his skin stretch over his pointed cheek bones. This confirmed Brendon's assumptions of Frank and Brent being related.

"Hey jerk, it's your turn." a new voice called out from the room ahead of them.

Brent gestured towards the room, inviting Brendon inside.

They shuffled into a small, comfortable looking room with cream walls which contained a TV connected several games consoles, a few guitars, amps, an end table and a blue sofa on which two boys were reclining flat out on. The bigger boy on the sofa held out a games controller huffily and dug it into Brent's ribs.

"Budge up then, wimp." Brent laughed.

Both boys groaned in protest as he added, "Oh yeah, this is Brendon."

The boy, who obviously had a hard time losing glanced over, then walked up to Brendon, pulling him into a one armed embrace.

"Spencer!" The boy lulled in a sing song voice. Assuming this was his name; Brendon chucked nervously and choked out a "Hey, Spencer," which was difficult because of the tightness of the hug. Spencer pulled away and beamed at him. They all seemed like friendly guys. Really friendly. Almost homo, even. Not that Brendon had a problem with that...He just wasn't used to people being so forward with him and actually wanting to speak to him.

Brent and Spencer stumbled over each other in the compact room as they cleared a seat for Brendon. Apparently he was staying for video games.

Brendon then inspected the third boy, who hadn't moved yet. This must have been the boy that had that amazing laugh that made Brendon's insides go funny. This was the first time he laid eyes on the boy, and he wouldn't forget it.

The boy was thin. Too thin, with lanky arms and legs that were more bone than anything. His dark hair pulled limply down the sides of his face and contrasted his white, white skin. Hazel coloured eyes were circled with black eyeliner. A bit over the top, but it really suited him. His thin lips were chapped and dry and pink. Fuck, this kid he was so...great. Well, he wasn't really a kid, even sitting down Brendon guessed he had to be taller than himself. His black skinny jeans hugged onto his stick like legs and caressed around his crotch. His top was just that inch too short. His red Third Eye Blind top. Damn, he looked good! But he wasn't smiling, anymore.

_Shit!_ Brendon thought. _Stop staring, you're being weird!_

He definitely wasn't smiling now. He was glaring. Glaring right at Brendon. Brendon whimpered, a lump caught in his throat.

Sensing the uncalled for tension, Brent cut in,

"Brendon Urie, Ryan Ross. Ryan Ross, Brendon Urie."

Ryan. Ryan Ross.

Ryan didn't say a word. Neither did Brendon. He sat, examining Brendon, like something that had just crawled out of the gutter.

Spencer and Brent positioned themselves on the sofa and fought over the better controllers. Spencer gestured towards the space in the couch next the him, between him and Ryan. Realising he was the only one left standing up, Brendon made his way across the room. Just as he approached the sofa, Ryan shot up out of his seat, practically leaping across the room. Everyone looked at him curiously.

"Gotta get home soon, anyway," he muttered under his breath, picking up a guitar, ramming it into its case. "Bye."

"Cya tomorrow, Ry!" Spencer called after him, but he'd already left the room. He'd fled. Brendon stood motionless in the middle of the room.

What the fuck?

Brent caught onto his confusion. "Don't worry about it," he shrugged "Ryan's...weird."

Ryan's weird.

Picking up his earlier mood, Brendon plonked himself down where the elusive boy had been perched seconds before. He knew he came across a little strongly sometimes, that's just who he was. Not everyone was going to like him. Besides, he didn't even know this boy. And he wasn't going to let some Ryan Ross in eyeliner and skinny jeans get him down.


End file.
